Thoreau Had Company
by Kristi
Summary: It's summer, and Emily invites Lorelai, Rory, and Luke to Martha's Vineyard. As the post-S4 kettle brews, outbursts, scandal, and a near-death experience ensue.
1. Solicitation

A/n: I own none of this. A million thanks to my beta readers, Carrielynn and Romantique. 

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**"Thoreau Had Company"**

Chapter 1: Solicitation

_Ring ring_.

"Lorelai."

"Mom. Hi." Lorelai cradled the phone on her chin as she handed two Dragonfly guests their keys, smiling apologetically. "What's up?"

"Your father has decided to use the house Friday night for a business event, even though I _specifically_ requested it for our Friday night dinner." Emily's voice could, as usual, cut glass. "It's no business of mine if he wants to ignore his daughter and granddaughter," she ranted. "I swear that man's selfishness grows with each passing week. Have I told you the lengths he's going to for the Wedgwood vase in the sitting room? The one _my_ mother gave me –"

"Mom," Lorelai said, sharply but not unkindly, to head off the newest report from the front in the War of the Gilmores. Checkout had started half an hour ago, while check in had started five minutes ago, and Lorelai didn't have time for a family crisis. "So in two hundred words or less, you're saying that dinner this Friday is canceled?"

"Yes."

"Well, okay," Lorelai said absently as she clicked through the day's reservations on the computer. "We'll just move it to next week."

"Next week is your father's week for the house, even though he _stole_ mine –"

"The week after?"

"I'll be away on vacation for a month starting that week."

"How about our house?" Lorelai clapped her hand over her mouth. Michel, filing things nearby, eyed her with amusement.

"Your house?" Emily asked.

Lorelai stammered, "Uh, well, if you want. I know it's a long drive and –"

"It's twenty minutes."

"Uh, right. So." Lorelai took a breath; if she'd had a shot of courage handy, she'd have downed that, too. "Mother, would you like to come to dinner on Friday night at my house?"

Emily was silent for a minute, and when she spoke again, Lorelai imagined the smugly grinning shark on the cover of her _Finding Nemo_ soundtrack. "I'd love to."

The women finished pleasantries and hung up, and Lorelai's true panic began.

"Oh god oh god oh god," she muttered as she quickly dialed.

"If you are going to have a heart attack," Michel drawled, "please do not expect me to perform CPR, as my suit is Italian and I do not wish to have dirt stains on the knees."

"Then you'd better stop conducting business in the park," Lorelai said. "C'mon, c'mon, pick up," she said to the phone.

"Luke's," said the voice on the other end.

"Yes! Luke! I did a very stupid thing."

"Invaded a country without UN support?"

"I invited my _mother_ to my house for Friday night dinner. What the hell was I thinking?"

"That you haven't seen your mom in a couple of weeks, and you miss her?"

"Gah! Such blasphemy will get you two hours watching that new Olsen twins movie with your eyelids propped open with toothpicks!"

"You say so," Luke said, unconvinced. He had listened to Lorelai complain about her mother for years, and noted in recent months that the complaints had dwindled to nearly nil.

"What the hell was I thinking?" Lorelai asked again. "I can't cook! What am I going to do, serve ketchup and Pez?"

Impatiently, Luke replied, "Look, hon, I sympathize with your cause, but it's twelve-thirty and I've got a diner full of very hungry, very impatient people, and we both know that you called for one reason."

"To ask you what you're wearing?"

"An apron," he said, 'forgetting' to mention anything else.

"Liking the visual," Lorelai said decadently, her lips twisting into a naughty smile.

The sex-banter – knowing, not just suspecting, that _she _was attracted to _him_ -- was one change to their relationship that Luke got a particular kick out of.

"You called," Luke said, "because you know that I can cook, and you'd like to make use of my services."

"_Dirty_," Lorelai said.

Luke cradled the phone on his shoulder and refilled Andrew's raspberry iced tea. "And you didn't just come out and ask me, because -- even though we've been going out for a month, have been friends for years, and not to mention that I've _met_ your mother several times -- you thought I wouldn't want to go to a Gilmore Friday night dinner."

"I didn't say that!"

"Uh huh," Luke said, not letting her spin anything. This was the biggest change in their relationship since they had started dating: Luke no longer had to construct elaborate excuses to spend time with her. "I assume you _are_ going to extend an invitation; I'm not just going to be your hired kitchen boy?"

"We were going to let you dance in a cage, too."

"Lorelai, did I mention that I'm busy?"

"In a gold lamé g-string."

"Lorelai."

"Luke, would you like to come to dinner on Friday?"

Luke smiled. "I'd love to."

"I really, really like you."

Luke turned away from the counter and said, "I really, really like you, too. Talk to you later?"

"When the coffee addiction calls, you know who I'll run to."

"Yeah, I do. Bye."

When he turned around, Patty and Babette fixed him with twin smiles and cocked heads; Babette looked a little teary.

"What?" he said.

"We're really happy for you, sugar," Babette said.

"We've wanted this for a really long time," Patty added.

"Okay, that's –" Luke tried to interrupt.

"Oh! My god! Your kids are gonna be _adarable_," Babette gushed.

Luke turned on his heel to find a less nosy customer.


	2. Danger, Will Robinson!

**Chapter 2: Danger, Will Robinson**

Lorelai fluttered nervously through the house, stacking the magazines on the coffee table, kicking a pair of shoes under the couch, turning a light on, then off, then on again, then staring it down as if it was deliberately confusing her with the mystery of mood-balanced ambient lighting.

"Mom!" Rory said, sitting in front of the vacuum cleaner on the floor in the living room. "Park it. You're making me nervous."

"_I'm_ making _you_ nervous? Sorry, hon, that's nothing compared to what I'm doing to myself." Lorelai indicated the prone vacuum. "Are you going to use that, or just remove its appendix?"

"I think Dusty Floorfield has sung her last tune," Rory said. "For instance," she shook the base and something rattled.

"Ughh," Lorelai groaned. "Just use it or put it away, I don't care anymore."

"Sorry, Dusty, but you're destined for the great appliance closet in the sky." Rory patted her comfortingly.

Lorelai went into the kitchen. "Luke!" she cried, desperation creeping into the edge of her voice.

"Ah!" The spatula flipped out of his hand and landed on the floor, splattering gravy. "Dammit, Lorelai. Don't sneak up on a man stirring gravy with a _spatula_. You do realize you don't have a single decent kitchen item."

Lorelai soaked a paper towel and knelt to clean up the greasy mess.

"Sorry," she said. "How's it coming? Food good? Great. Is that what you're wearing?"

Luke made an irritated noise. "You said no tee shirt, no flannel, and no jeans. I've got pants with creases, and a shirt with irrigation ditches," he said, referring to the ribs on the black shirt.

"But it's short sleeved. Informal. What about one of those clingy sweaters, the ones that show off your shoulders?"

"It's like a kettle of rice outside!"

"Summertime, no sweater, got it. But –"

"Lorelai, I'm fixing dinner. What I'm wearing right now is fine. If not, your mother will just have to get over it."

"Fine," Lorelai grumbled.

"What're you so worried about, anyway? Your mom's seen your place before."

"And written tomes on its filth, décor, and angle in relation to the sun."

"So you know what to expect," he said without sympathy.

"Well, true, I have grown accustomed to my mother's usual diatribe on my PowerPuff Girls flatware."

"This is not a man-friendly house," Luke muttered.

"It's just . . ." Lorelai trailed off.

"What?" Luke said. Lorelai looked askance. "Me?"

Lorelai hesitated.

"Your mom doesn't like me?" Luke said.

"She doesn't _know_ you," Lorelai said diplomatically. "She'll love you. Eventually."

The doorbell rang. Lorelai yelped.

"Why don't you get that, Rory," Luke called. "Give your mom time for the meds to kick in."

The front door opened, sounds of greetings filled the front hall.

"Crispin, Crispian," Lorelai said. She turned to go greet Emily.

Luke grabbed her elbow. "Hey," he said quietly. "It's going to be fine."

Lorelai smiled gratefully, and they left the kitchen together.

"Mom, hi. How're you?"

"Hello, Lorelai. I see you've finally put in stepping stones from the driveway."

"I laid down those, Mrs. – er – Em –" Luke looked sidelong at Lorelai. Lorelai shrugged.

"'Emily' is just fine, Luke," Emily said, to his relief. "You're looking well."

"Thanks, you look nice, too."

Luke excused himself to check on dinner while the women moved into the living room. Lorelai poured drinks, wine for the legally aged and soda for Rory.

"Luke is making dinner?" Emily said. "I must say, that's a relief."

"To you and me both," Rory chirped.

"Excuse me, missy," Lorelai said, "I haven't heard any complaints about my mac and cheese surprise."

"'Surprise'?" Emily asked.

"The surprise is the crunchy stuff," Rory explained. Lorelai sent her an annoyed glance.

They chatted about the weather until Luke came back into the living room to say that dinner was ready. Lorelai and Rory started for the kitchen, Emily following them hesitantly. It was then that she realized Lorelai didn't have a dining room. Emily couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten in the _kitchen_.

"Do we – ah, do you have assigned seats?" Emily asked, slightly flustered.

Lorelai held back a guffaw. "Only when the Pope is in town."

Emily sat.

"Mmm, mashed potatoes with cheese," Rory cooed.

While Emily missed the propriety of her fine dining room, she couldn't help but be charmed by Lorelai's informal, cozy kitchen. Across the table, Lorelai felt like something was missing without Emily scolding her nervous domestic help, although Lorelai noticed that that spike of pain behind her left eye that she usually felt by now was absent.

Conversation was a little stalled; Lorelai and Rory – who, Emily noticed, had been unusually less talkative all evening -- didn't do one of their tag-team comedy bits. Meanwhile, Luke was having a hard time thinking of a single thing he had in common with Emily. Overall, though, the company was pleasant and content.

During a lull, Lorelai prompted, "Mom, you were saying that you're going on vacation? Did you decide to go to Europe without Rory?"

"You were going to go to Europe again?" Luke asked Rory, impressed. Twice before age twenty.

"Grandma offered," Rory said, "but I need to take that job as a fact checker at the _Stars Hollow Gazette_. I'm sorry, Grandma, I really do wish I could go."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Rory. It was just an idea, on terribly short notice. I understand that you need to build your resume at your age."

In the face of her grandmother's pride, Rory didn't like to admit, even to herself, that the job was mainly so she wouldn't have to work during the school year and would have more time to study. Plus, books alone would drain her of $400, and she was determined not to rely on her mom for cash while the Dragonfly was still a new business.

"So you're not going either, Emily?" Luke asked.

"No, I've decided to spend a month at the house we always rent on Martha's Vineyard," Emily explained. "I convinced your father that if he gave me the house, I wouldn't go after that classic car of his."

"That sounds nice," Lorelai said neutrally. Over the past month, most of her interactions with her parents had revolved around avoiding getting involved in their divorce – separation – whatever.

"Yeah," Luke said. "Good fishing up there."

The women had no response for that.

"And you, Luke?" Emily asked. "Any special summer plans?"

"Nah, nothing special. I usually head up to Ely Lake for a few days."

"Do you rent?"

"No, nothing fancy like that. My dad had this little shack up there. No running water, generator, that kind of thing."

Emily smile flickered at 'shack.' "How nice," she said.

"It's back-to-nature," Rory explained. "Mom's going with him."

Emily looked stunned. "You _are_? _You_ are?"

"_Yes_," Lorelai said, defensive.

"May I ask why?"

Lorelai smiled sidelong at Luke, prompting Rory to roll her eyes. "No reason," Lorelai said.

"I thought you were insane when you took your daughter traipsing through Europe like a pack of wolves, but this is ludicrous!" Emily said.

"It's really not that bad," Luke started.

"I apologize, Luke," Emily said, in a tone none too apologetic. "I am sure it is a pleasant getaway from the real world for someone who enjoys a chance to live simply without modern intrusions. My daughter, however, once forgot her hair dryer on a family vacation to the Outer Banks and sulked in her room until her father drove thirty-five miles to the nearest Woolworths to buy her a new one."

Luke chuckled.

"That sounds like Mom," Rory said.

"I just wanted to see what the big deal was," Lorelai said. "You act like that shack is the only Mounds bar in a roomful of Almond Joys."

"It's _quiet_," Luke said pointedly.

"How about this," Emily said. "Why don't the three of you join me on Martha's Vineyard for a week? It's a perfect compromise: Luke, you can fish all afternoon and never see a soul. And Lorelai will enjoy the luxury of not having to heat her bathwater on the stove. And Rory, it's unconscionable for you to jump into a job right after your first year at Yale; please let me pry you out into the sun for a week."

"Oh, ah -- mom, I don't know," Lorelai hedged. "We wouldn't want to butt into your vacation."

"I've certainly got the room. I'll be there for a month, and since I'm going to be alone this year, I would enjoy the company."

Rory looked guiltily across the table at Lorelai; they had been worried about both Emily and Richard since the divorce. The idea of Emily rattling around that big, old lake house alone. . . .

"Luke, what about you?" Emily asked.

"Ah…" he said. "It does sound nice. What do you think, Lorelai?"

Lorelai couldn't blame the man for faltering under her mother's Basilisk stare, even if it meant putting all the pressure on her.

"I guess it sounds nice," Lorelai conceded. "Rory, honey, do you think you can get off work?" Her eyes said: '_Please please please be my buffer!_'

"Sure," Rory said, the only person at the table who seemed genuinely interested. "It sounds cool, Grandma. I love woods and running water."

"Excellent," Emily said. "So it's settled then."

* * *

Thanks for reading! There's more to come 


	3. An Affair to Forget

Chapter 3: An Affair to Forget

After coffee and peach pie, Emily declared it time to leave, and they said their goodbyes and thank yous.

"Let me walk you out, Mom," Lorelai said, following her outside. The humidity pressed on them like a physical force, despite the sun having dipped behind the trees.

"This weather is just oppressive," Emily said. "I can't wait to take a dip in that lake – it's supplied by mountain streams."

"Yeah, about that, Mom. Um, how many bedrooms does this house have?"

"Three. Why?"

"Huh. So, four people, three rooms?"

"Is that a problem?" Emily said in that tone she used when digging for far more information than the question posed at face value. "They all have queen-sized beds; you and Rory could double up."

"Well, sure, we _could_," Lorelai said, "but Rory will be working on her fact checking thing for the paper."

"Well, you and Luke," Emily said nonchalantly, "could –"

"No, no," Lorelai said with faux assurance. "That won't work either."

"Please, Lorelai, don't change your routine on my account. If I thought you had been waiting for marriage all these years, I'd pour you into a pair of hotpants and drop you off by the docks," she said, mostly for effect.

Lorelai was determined not to give her mother the satisfaction of becoming stunned and hostile. "That's nice, Mom. But – well, no, you're right. Rory and I can double up. It's no problem. She won't be working all the time."

"So you'll really come?" Emily said, genuinely delighted.

"Sure, Mom. It sounds fun."

"Splendid," Emily said. "I'm glad to hear it. I'll see you next week."

Lorelai watched the car's taillights illuminate the bushes in red and thought, _Great_. _A pseudo-romantic getaway with Luke that we're totally not ready for, plus quality time with Rory, who lately is as cuddly as one those California cactuses that you don't see until it stabs you through your shoe. _


	4. Primitive as Can Be

Chapter 4: Primitive as Can Be

"Mom! Luke's going to be here in ten minutes!"

Rory climbed the stairs to Lorelai's room and found her mom surrounded by a sea of clothing tossed on her bed, dresser, floor, and spilling out of her closet like an avalanche.

"I'm almost finished, Miss 'I Packed for College in Two Hours,'" Lorelai said. She debated between a bikini versus a one-piece – to dress for Luke, or to dress to head off her mother's sarcastic comments sure to come if she wore the fun suit? – and finally threw them both in her suitcase.

"You're bringing a whole suitcase?" Rory said.

"Yeah," Lorelai said. "Aren't you?"

"I put my laptop and my books in my college backpack and everything else in my old one."

"Guess all those years of Tetris paid off," Lorelai said.

"Are you positive that Grandma's house has an Internet connection?" Rory said. "I need to organize this research for the _Gazette_ and send them back by Monday, or no one will ever know about the town's secondary troubadour's stint as a bouncer at Studio 54."

"How much research does that article need? Didn't your overlord—" Lorelai-speak for the reporter who had passed all his research onto Rory so he could go to his family reunion in Key West this weekend – "get the first-hand account from the troubadour?"

"His memory isn't what it used to be," Rory said. "On the plus side, I finally found out what 'chasing the dragon' means."

Downstairs, they heard pounding on the front door, then Luke's voice in the entryway.

"Ahh!" Lorelai cried. Half her wardrobe was still decorating her room, while her suitcase taunted her with its empty, gaping maw. "Stupid empty suitcase! Why don't you auto-populate!"

"You shouldn't have put off packing until this morning," Rory said.

"Well, I'm sorry if my inn is so successful that both Mobil and Greenpeace had to have their conventions at the same inn this year, and I was needed until eight every night to make sure no one put any cyanide in anyone's wine. But that is the business that I have chosen, and I'm sorry if I don't really have time to flit off to the Hamptons—"

"Martha's Vineyard."

"—on a whim because I feel guilty that my mother is going to be alone, when she made it very clear that her divorce is none of my business!" Lorelai slapped a pair of jeans into the suitcase.

"Are you guys ready?" Luke called up the stairs. "Are you _here_?"

"Be down in a minute!" Lorelai yelled. "Why couldn't she have taken one of her DAR biddies? They could've had the Chardonnay flowing and the Meryl Streep movies playing all weekend."

"Maybe she was trying to be nice," Rory said, and Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Maybe she needs family." Lorelai made a face. "Maybe it'll be fun, and it doesn't matter why she invited us. Maybe you can just swim in the lake, and read, and, _maybe_, hurry up so we can get there _today_!"

Rory went downstairs to greet Luke and help him pack up the Jeep. Lorelai eventually descended the stairs, suitcase in tow, and they were on their way.

During the drive, Luke and Lorelai chatted, while Rory read in the back seat. Ever since the test run at the inn, Luke noticed that Lorelai and Rory seemed … subdued, somehow. Not angry; they bickered _less_, actually, but there seemed to be a thin, tense line of restraint between them.

Rory hadn't turned a page in ten minutes. She half-listened to her mother play-bicker – _flirt­ – _with Luke for tuning in country music on the radio, and it was all rather nauseating. Dates every weekend, good morning kisses in the diner. Rory liked Luke; it was Lorelai who was getting on her nerves.

To block out the mating rituals, Rory put on her headphones, selected a Lane-mix CD from her backpack, and turned it up louder than she had ever put the volume on her Discman. The familiar bass beat of "Under Pressure" throbbed in her chest and temples, and she'd never heard truer words than David's confusion at the world and poor dead Freddie's fruitless search for love.

_'watching some good friends screaming – let me out!'_

Dean and Lindsay were still together. Rory had seen them three days ago at Doose's, picking out dish detergent. Cleaning up their happy home.

_'keep coming up with love but it's so slashed . . .'_

Rory didn't care. It was none of her business. Not anymore. And she shouldn't care. Avoiding them was the right thing to do.

_'sat on a fence but it don't work . . .'_

She hadn't heard from Jess since her last night at Yale, unsurprisingly. Immature little punk.

_'insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking_'

Freddie's falsetto howl drilled into her brain, his primal shriek almost wedging loose from deep within her some hidden longing, a deep disappointment in herself that she refused to acknowledge. . . . Rory closed her eyes to the first prick of tears.

The song ended on airy snapping fingers, and she pressed 'repeat,' over and over; she didn't know how long she listened to the same song.

Rory felt the completely disorienting sensation of someone else pulling her headphones away from her head. A different song tinned an inch from her ear; she'd fallen asleep.

"We're here," Lorelai said.

When Luke climbed out of the car, he stared up at the looming Victorian monolith, his eyes flicking from the numerous gables, widow's walk and veranda, manicured garden – and was that their own dock in the back? Maybe he should have packed a tie . . . . He glanced at Rory, similarly slack-jawed over the house; however, he was relieved to see Lorelai glance vaguely at it, unimpressed, and begin unpacking the Jeep.

"Hello hello!" Emily greeted them from the front porch.

"Hi, Grandma!" Rory said. "This house is gorgeous!" She and Emily hugged.

"Yeah, it's really something," Luke agreed.

"Well, I'm glad you could come share it with me," Emily said. "Come, bring your things inside and I'll give you the tour."

As they went inside, Rory made a mental note to bring her old friend _Anna Karenina_ to the elegant English garden, and Lorelai couldn't help but be charmed by the (faux) rustic décor in the oak-paneled foyer.

"Luke, you've got the front bedroom," Emily said. "It's the smallest, I hope you don't mind, but it does have a lovely window seat in the gable."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," he said.

"Girls, you two have the second room on the right," Emily said. "Rory, there's an 'Ethernet jack' behind the desk. I have no idea what that is, but when I asked the realtor if the house had an 'Internet connection,' she told me to tell you that."

Emily showed them the enormous, shiny kitchen, living room with overstuffed Italian furniture, Eden-like backyard that sloped down to the lake where -- as Luke had suspected – a motorboat bobbed, tethered to the dock. Emily took them up the narrow, spiral staircase to the widow's walk, where they took in the 360-degree view of Main Street and the hundreds-years-old woodland beyond.

"This house was built in 1893," Emily said, "and I just adore the sense of history I feel here. We rented so many houses that were far too modern and dull, but this entire neighborhood made me feel like I'm in _Our Town_. There isn't a mall or even a chain store in the entire town."

Lorelai whimpered.

"You can go without shopping for a week," Luke whispered.

"It's the principle," she whispered back.

"Are there any houses on that island?" Rory asked, pointing to a patch of green in the center of the lake.

"No, that's a nature preserve, with trails and such," Emily said. "I haven't been there in a long time."

"Wow, look at that yacht," Lorelai said, pointing to a hulking white beast, afloat, it seemed, despite the laws of physics.

"That yacht is worth three million dollars," Emily said, clearly finding this distasteful. "It's owned by the Pewterschmidts, and I think it's just obscene, the way they cruise past the marina every day. Some people can't resist showing off their wealth."

Lorelai snorted, and Rory gave her a look.

"Well," Emily said. "Who's ready for a swim?"

* * *

TBC


	5. Sun, Fun, and Intrigue

Chapter 5: Sun, Fun, and Intrigue

They spent the afternoon swimming, dozing on the docks, eating prosciutto and mozzarella sandwiches, reading, and chatting. After lunch, Emily and Rory took the small motorboat out on the lake.

Emily showed Rory how to drive, which was similar to a car except for the hand brake. Although Rory picked up the skill quickly, Emily only let her cruise between the docks at ten miles an hour.

The sun reflected off the water directly into Rory's eyes; her t-shirt clung to her back. Driving so slowly, in high summer with practically no wind to cool them, was akin to skating on a frying pan with sticks of butter on her feet, like Jerry the cartoon mouse.

"Am I ready for open water yet?" Rory asked.

"I'm not so sure about that, Rory." Emily said cautiously. "I always let your grandfather drive."

"C'mon, Grandma. We're women of the modern era! We don't need no stinkin' men to operate our motorized vehicles for us!"

Emily evaluated Rory warily, but finally said, "All right. But no more than twenty-five miles per – Rory!" she cried as the boat tore away from the bank at top speed.

Back on the pebbly beach, Lorelai and Luke listened to Rory's whoop and watched the boat's wake curl like _Hawaii 5-0_.

"It's times like this that I see your influence," Luke said drolly.

"Ha, very funny, my friend," Lorelai grinned. "That's my girl out there, scaring the hell out of my mother. I couldn't be more proud."

"Are you two getting along all right?" Luke asked.

"My mother and me? We are, actually. It's like, ever since she and my dad separated, she's been making all this extra effort to talk to me and stuff. It's weird."

"I'm glad to hear it. But I meant you and Rory."

Lorelai looked surprised and started picking at stray fibers on her hammock. She felt his eyes on her. "We're getting along fine."

"Really?"

"No." She looked at him sheepishly.

Luke got off his hammock and joined Lorelai on hers. She curled beside him, arm draped across his bare chest.

"You want to tell me about it?" Luke asked.

Lorelai hadn't told anyone about Rory and Dean, of course. She desperately wished she could be completely honest with Luke; say, 'my kid did the stupidest thing in the world and I'm worried about her.'

"Did you have a fight?" Luke asked.

"No. Well, we did, but the fight we got over. This . . . ." She sighed. "Rory did something dumb, and I called her on it, and so she's mad at me. Not so much that I called her on it, but that . . . I don't know." Lorelai shrugged, truly at a loss, which was maddening; she never not knew what was going on with her kid. "So now I'm starting to second-guess myself, which is totally bizarre, 'cause, hello, this is me, queen mom."

"As much as I hate to stroke your ego –"

"_Dirty_."

"— I've never seen you steer that kid wrong."

"No one bats a hundred."

"Thousand," he corrected.

"Whatever."

"There's a huge difference," he said.

"_Whatever_, mister 'pays for three ESPNs but no movie channels,'" she teased. "The point is that I'm worried about her."

"What did she do?" Luke asked.

"I can't tell you. She'd kill me."

"Well, what did you say to her?"

"I can't tell you."

Luke made an irritated noise. "I can't help you if I don't know what happened."

Lorelai shrugged. "You _can't _help, hon. No one can. This is one of those 'time heals all wounds' things."

"So, meanwhile, you two are going to stay mad at each other?"

"I guess so," Lorelai said miserably.

"Sucks."

"Yeah."

"It'll get better," Luke said.

"Yeah."

Lorelai rested her chin on Luke's shoulder and watched Rory's boat until it drove out of sight.

Later that evening, Emily declared the maid incompetent for not stocking the refrigerator properly, and decided she'd have to go to the grocery store herself if they were to have any decent food for the rest of the week. No, she didn't need Lorelai to come with her; she didn't want to have an argument over what bizarrely colored ketchup to buy.

Lorelai, Luke, and Rory, sunburnt and swim-tired, lounged on the couches in the living room.

"What do you want to do?" Lorelai said, staring listlessly at the ceiling.

"Who're you asking?" Luke said.

"Meh," Lorelai said. She draped her feet in Luke's lap.

"I don't know, what do you want to do?" Rory asked.

"Meh."

Rory plucked the television remote off the coffee table and started flipping though channels. Static, static, horse racing, static…

"What's wrong with the TV?" Rory asked.

"They probably don't get a lot of stations in the wilderness," Luke said.

"But _I Love the 90s_ was starting tonight," Rory said. "I was actually going to be able to share in the nostalgia."

"How is 1999 nostalgic?" Luke said.

"They're going to repeat it more times than Cher says 'whatever,'" Lorelai consoled.

"I know. But I was really looking forward to seeing if Michael Ian Black would pick a different facial expression," Rory said.

"Well, I could climb up the telephone poll and mess around with that little gray box," Lorelai said.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Rory said.

"It'll be great. I'll wear one of those cool tool belts and call my ma on the tin can!"

"You'd get curious about what the red wire does, and you'd fry," Rory said.

"We could play a game," Luke suggested, seeing that the Lorelais were getting nowhere with the conversation.

"The 'Mom Frying on the Telephone Pole Drinking Game'?" Rory asked.

"There's a whole cabinet of board games over there," Luke said.

"They call them 'bored games' for a reason," Lorelai grumped, but got up when Luke and Rory did, since there weren't many other time-passage options. Among the stacks of board games, their boxes humidity-warped from dozens of past renters, a pastel title jumped out at Lorelai immediately.

"Ooh!" Lorelai cried. "_The Babysitters' Club _Game! 'Say hello to your friends!'" she sang.

"'Babysitters' club!'" she and Rory cheered together.

"Can we find a game that _isn't_ based on a bunch of fictional little girls?" Luke said.

"There's a boy player in the game," Rory said.

"Yeah, Logan, Mary Ann's boyfriend," Lorelai said. "She was the quiet, bookish one who grabbed herself a nice boy next door –" Lorelai caught Rory glaring at her. "Uhh, anyway. How about Taboo? It's totally fun. Me and Rory play it like Will and Grace."

"We need teams," Rory said, standing. "I'll go see if Grandma's back yet."

"Her car's been in the driveway for about half an hour," Luke said.

"And she didn't come in?" Lorelai said. "Odd."

Rory walked through the house to the back door; Emily's car was, indeed, in the driveway. Rory went outside into the darkening yard, where she could hear but not see the lake lapping at the banks. She could faintly discern the outline of two people, and an unmistakable Barbara Stanwyck-like laugh.

"Grandma?" Rory called. She walked towards the sound, bare feet on the dew-damp ground. She found her grandmother at the edge of the yard, talking to a man about Emily's age. He was holding one of her grocery bags.

"Rory, hello," Emily said. "This is Mr. Ferguson."

Rory greeted him warily.

"He's been renting the house next door for years," Emily said.

"That's great," Rory said politely. Her eyes flicked between Ferguson – whose gaze was remind Rory of the phrase 'bedroom eyes' that she had read in books – and her grandmother, who was looking by turns embarrassed and – _good lord _-- _girlish_. "So you get to see each other every year, huh?"

"Just about," Emily said.

"Emily tells me you're attending Yale," Mr. Ferguson said.

"Yes, I am," Rory said hesitantly. What the heck was going on? Had Grandpa ever met this guy? Did he like him? What would Grandpa say if he knew Grandma was … fraternizing with him?

"Enjoying it?"

"Oh, yeah. It's really great. Great school," she babbled. "Lots of fun."

"Hope you're not having too much fun," Mr. Ferguson chuckled.

Rory forced a smile. "No, no. Just the right amount to cancel out all the study-induced apoplexy. Hey, Grandma, Mom and Luke and I were just about to play Taboo, but we need even-numbered teams, so we were wondering if you'd like to play with us?" Rory hoped the _even-numbered_ bit would discourage Emily from inviting Chuckles.

"That sounds like fun," Emily said.

"I'd better get back to my dinner," Mr. Ferguson said.

"Cooking for your wife?" Rory asked.

"Ah, no," Mr. Ferguson said. "Let me help you carry those bags inside first," he said.

"Oh, no, I've got it," Rory said, practically wrenching the grocery bag out of his hands. She bolted back to the kitchen.

Emily bid Mr. Ferguson goodnight quickly, then caught up to Rory on the front porch.

"Just a second, young lady," she said. "That was very rude of you."

"I'm sorry, Grandma."

"_I_ don't need an apology, Mr. Ferguson does. I don't understand what got into you."

"I'm sorry, Grandma, I didn't mean to be rude. Honestly, I just . . . didn't mean to sound the way it came out."

Emily gave her one last annoyed, confused glance, and went inside. Rory melted with shame. _What's wrong with you? Your grandmother is not having an affair!_ _She loves Grandpa, and they're going to get back together! You're dreaming up scandal because you can't stop thinking about your own scandals_. _Get a grip!_


	6. Ding! Ding!

Chapter 6: Ding Ding!

It rained the next afternoon, and even though the storm blew over quickly, the dank weather made the foursome logy. Emily popped her favorite movie from the fifties into the VCR, Luke claimed the newspaper, and Lorelai went back up to her and Rory's shared bedroom complaining of a headache.

Rory took the opportunity to finish her notes for the _Gazette_ downstairs so Lorelai could have the room, but had to take her laptop upstairs to the Ethernet connection to email the files.

Lorelai was asleep when Rory came into the room. _A few clicks won't bother her_, Rory thought. She crawled under the desk to plug in the Ethernet cable, and accidentally knocked the chair.

Lorelai rolled over sleepily. "Rory, could you take that somewhere else? My head is _pounding_. The damn pollen is seeking me out, I swear."

"All my files are organized already," Rory explained. "I'll be quick, I promise."

"Rory, _please_," Lorelai said sharply. "The clacking from the keyboard is like Jiffy Pop in my head."

"Someone's getting her rag," Rory muttered, too quiet for Lorelai to hear.

"_Excuse_ me?"

Or not. "Sorry if you won't be getting jiggy with Luke for five to seven days, but I have a deadline."

And with that, one month of repressed anger came out to play.

Lorelai sat up. "You have _got_ to be kidding me, kid," Lorelai said with restrained, white fury.

"I'm _not_ a kid!" Rory snapped.

"Then stop acting like a brat and _find another room!_"

Rory slammed her computer shut, shoved in her chair, and stormed out of the room, letting the door bang satisfyingly.

Lorelai dropped back onto the bed and flopped her arm over her eyes. She shouldn't have yelled. She'd talk to Rory later.

Rory thudded down the stars and, with stony silence, passed her grandmother in the living room and Luke on the back porch. If only she could take the motorboat down the coast, across the Panama Canal, into the mountains in Chile, and live with some native mountain people, then she'd never have to think about Dean or Lindsay or their ridiculous marriage again.

"Are you going down to the lake?" Luke asked.

Rory stopped short, scuffing the grass. With her back to Luke, she said, "I'm taking the boat to the island. Because it is quiet, and secluded, and because it's the farthest place I can get from – from here." She started walking.

"'Kay." Luke put down his sports page and followed her.

"What are you doing?" Rory asked.

"Coming with you."

"I'd prefer to be alone, please," she said in a tone designed to curtail argument.

"Well, that's a problem, because that's not gonna happen."

She turned and faced him, arms crossed. "Luke –"

"Look. You fight with your mom, fine, that's what family does. I'm not getting involved. But it's not safe to take a boat out and go wandering all over an island by yourself." Before Rory could argue again, he ticked off on his fingers, "You have all of one day's boat experience, you're not the most woodsy girl in the world, and even if you were a character in a Rick Bass short story, it still wouldn't be safe."

Rory turned and started walking. "Fine," she said, and didn't say another word until they reached the docks.


	7. Trying

Chapter 7: Trying

Her movie having finished, Emily roused herself from the couch to go upstairs and check on Lorelai. She found her sitting up in bed, reading a magazine.

Emily tapped on the door that stood ajar. "How does your head feel?"

"Better," Lorelai said with a smile. "Thanks for the allergy pills."

"You're welcome."

Emily lingered at the door and gazed at her daughter, a vibrant, beautiful woman who turned heads even on her worst days, who had found a wonderful man who clearly adored her, who hadn't rushed to settle into an appropriate marriage but had instead taken time to decide what she wanted from her life and with whom she wanted to share it. A courageous, determined woman who, at thirty-something, was just beginning a new leg in her life's journey.

Noticing the wistful expression on her mother's face, Lorelai said with concern, "How're you doing, Mom?"

"Fine," Emily answered, briskly. She entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed. "I can't believe I wasted half the day loafing around."

"That's okay," Lorelai said. "It's your vacation; you're allowed to be a loaf." Her browed furrowed. "Hm. Now I'm hungry. Is there any of that cinnamon-raisin bread downstairs?"

"Just like when you were a little girl," Emily said. "The first sign I took that you were well enough to go back to school was when your appetite returned."

She and Lorelai headed down to the kitchen.

"Until I got smart and learned to go on a hunger strike," Lorelai said. She twisted around on the stairs to face Emily, put the back of her hand on her forehead, and channeled Scarlett O'Hara. "Mother, I do declare, I'm too weak to learn geometry."

"Turn around, you're going to trip and break your neck," Emily said, smiling.

In the kitchen, Lorelai cut thick slices of the decadent bakery bread to toast while Emily put the teakettle on to boil – and started the coffeemaker, when Lorelai made her opinion clear about "boiled weeds." The kitchen filled with the heavenly aroma of sweet cinnamon and strong coffee.

When they had settled into the breakfast nook with their snack, Emily asked, "So tell me, how long have you been seeing Luke?"

"Uh, I'm not sure, exactly," Lorelai dodged. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm your mother; I like to know about the people who are important in your life."

"Oh. Well, I guess it's been about a month, something like that." Lorelai crunched down on her buttery slice of cinnamon-swirled heaven.

"You 'guess'?" Emily asked neutrally.

"Well, he took me to his sister's wedding, but that wasn't really a _date_. Just the end part." Lorelai stirred her coffee with a private smile.

"Ah," Emily said, smiling.

"What? No, no, not that kind of 'end of date'," Lorelai laughed. "We danced – waltzed, actually. It was really nice. And then he walked me home, and he asked me to a movie."

"And the movie was a month ago?" Emily said. It was wonderful to be able to ask Lorelai a question about something important in her life and get a straight answer. Somehow – exactly when, Emily couldn't say -- Lorelai had stopped being so defensive and secretive. It made Emily felt like a resident, not a visitor, to Lorelai's magical mystery world. It was all she'd ever wanted, really, when she made the Friday night dinner deal over four years ago.

"No, actually, the – um." Lorelai blushed absurdly at revealing even an innocent detail to her mother. "We kissed a month ago. At the Inn's test run. And that was, like, the beginning of our relationship."

"Ah," Emily said.

Lorelai pulled her toast into little chunks, raccoon-style. "We're taking it slow," she said thoughtfully.

"I see," Emily said, looking at Lorelai over her teacup.

"It's a big transition, going from friends to dating," Lorelai said. "Luke's always been really important to me, for years."

"And you're afraid that sex will change things?"

"_Mother_," Lorelai said, embarrassed. She started collecting the dishes they were finished with.

"I wasn't born yesterday, Lorelai," Emily said archly. "I've heard the word before. I've even –"

"Okay, stop right there. You picked me out of a cabbage patch, and, I'm sorry, but I'm never going to change my mind on that." Lorelai stood, intending to take the dishes into the kitchen.

Emily smirked, amused to provoke a reaction. "Fine," she said. Before Lorelai could escape the conversation, she continued, "I'm only saying, waiting and taking things slow is all fine and well. But I've known you for thirty-five years, Lorelai, and I know you better than you think I do: You're scared."

Lorelai laughed, shortly and forced. "That's _crazy_, Mom. Luke is the nicest guy in the _world_."

"Yes, exactly; he's 'important'," Emily said. "And you think that if you keep dating him casually, you'll always have a reset button at the ready if things go sour. But relationships aren't a can of tuna, Lorelai. You can't keep them on the shelf and expect them to last forever."

"Mother, when was the last time you were within visual distance of a can of tuna?"

"Lorelai," Emily said flatly.

"Mom," Lorelai said, her voice a brick wall. "Luke and I are fine." She collected the plates and cups and took them into the kitchen.

Three years ago, the judgmental tone in Emily's voice alone would have stirred Lorelai to anger. Lorelai would have wrapped her indignation around herself like a cloak and have felt fully justified to say something, like, 'Just because I accepted your invitation to your lake house doesn't give you a green light into my personal life.' Perhaps it was progress, then, that as Lorelai loaded the dishwasher, she decided that Emily's comment – which was probably innocent, anyway – wasn't worth an argument.

Lorelai ventured back into the breakfast nook, where Emily was gazing out of the window at the pebbly beach, where a little boy was feeding a flock of seagulls.

"So, Mom," Lorelai said brightly, "what would you like to do today?"

Emily turned to face her. "Well, there are some splendid antique shops in town."

"That could be interesting," Lorelai said. "The inn could use a few things."

"All right, then," Emily said. "Just let me go change into something appropriate."

"Sure," Lorelai said. "By the way, have you seen Rory and Luke?"


	8. Little Red and the Huntsman

Chapter 8: Little Red and the Huntsman

After they tethered the boat to the island's dock, Luke and Rory picked a random footpath and start walking. Rory took the lead, stomping the path with a vengeance that bordered on a temper tantrum. Luke followed silently, matching her anger-fueled pace, for some while.

After nearly a mile of silence, Luke said, "Might feel better if you talk about it."

"Huh?" Rory said. She had almost forgotten about her shadow.

"I said I wasn't going to interfere, and I'm not," Luke said. "Just thought . . . you seem pretty steamed."

Rory slowed down and walked beside him for a while.

"I just don't want to talk about it," she said apologetically.

"Okay," Luke said, and didn't press again.

They hiked on, climbing steadily upward. Birds loped overhead, dipping drunkenly after flies; gnats buzzed near their faces, despite the bug spray they'd found in the boat. Sun dappled Rory's shoulders, making her feel alternately warm or cool.

"Lookit that," Luke said suddenly.

Before Rory could ask what he was looking at, a deer leaped elegantly across their path. Rory gasped, surprised at the near-horse size of the animal, its enormous branch-like antlers, and the loud clumping of its hooves, yet its ballerina grace as it bounded into the woods. It fled behind a bush where it thought the humans couldn't see it, and stared at them warily with wide brown eyes.

"Wow," Rory breathed.

"They don't usually get that close," Luke said. "We must've snuck up on him."

"It's so pretty," she said.

As they walked on, Rory became aware of the bunnies and chipmunks munching on the leafy plants that grew at the edges of the path. But when she and Luke approached, the little animals fled in terror; Rory felt a little guilty that her intrusive human footfalls were scaring away the cute little animals. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.

"Animals don't have little cell phones," Luke drawled. "That's why they don't get little brain tumors."

"I'm not calling them," Rory said goodnaturedly. "I'm taking pictures."

"With your _phone_?" Luke said, as if this signaled the end of human civilization.

"Don't fear the technology, Luke. It's the wave of the future."

"It's a fad."

"Sure it is. Like television and the Internet."

"Don't get me started," Luke grumbled. "Have you always had that?"

"A picture phone? No, it's new. Grandma got us on her family plan."

"How's it work?"

With a grin, Rory showed him. "And then I can email the picture, or just send it to another person's phone. Here, watch, I'll send it to Paris."

Later, Rory would receive a text message: _Thank you for pulling me out of the British Museum to look at a squirrel. God knows they don't have them in England. Or THE REST OF THE PLANET. _

"What'll they think of next," Luke said sarcastically. But he couldn't help being a little impressed. Picard's tricorders couldn't even do that.

"They've got all kinds of combo phones now," Rory said. "My roommate Janet had a ton of mp3s on hers. She used to take it jogging with her, so she didn't have to carry a separate phone and walkman."

"What the hell's an mp3?" Luke asked.

"It's music; people trade them like pogs. I've got about a gig on my computer." Off Luke's blank look, she explained, "A gig is a unit of memory." His expression still didn't register understanding. "It's a lot," she said.

"Oh," he said. "I didn't know you were such a techno-girl."

"It's a college thing. Everyone has their laptops wired into the school's network, and everyone downloads movies and stuff from everyone else. It's only a little illegal, if you think about it."

"Isn't 'a little illegal' like 'a little pregnant'?" Luke said.

Rory shrugged.

They walked on, conversation at a lull.

"Did you catch the weather report today?" Luke asked. They had been hiking uphill for over an hour and were probably a hundred feet above the lake; from that height, Luke could see darkish clouds in the distance.

"No, why?"

"Just don't like the look of those rain clouds."

Rory looked straight up; the sky was blue and cheerful above them, the birds were tweeting, the air was still. "They're probably miles away. And, if we get rained on, it will feel nice in this heat."

"It's not the rain I'm worried about it, it's the lightning."

Rory considered that. "Well, okay," she agreed. "Except, I saw a sign for a ladies' room up ahead, so do you think we could walk up there first, and then turn around?"

Luke took another glance at the rain clouds; they were probably miles away. "Sure," he said.

Something occurred to him. "We probably should have told someone where we were going," Luke said. "In case something happens."

"Nothing's going to happen," Rory said. Luke gave her a look. "All right," she said reluctantly. She brought up Lorelai's number in her phone book and handed the phone to Luke.

Luke, clearly not wanting to touch the carcinogen-bleeding object, left a brief message on Lorelai's voicemail and handed the phone back to Rory.

Back at the house, Lorelai and Emily backed out of the driveway. Lorelai's cell phone rang on the kitchen table.

* * *

TBC 


	9. Shop Talk

Chapter 9: Shop Talk

Lorelai knelt beside an oak bureau, examining a chip near the bottom.

"Do you like it?" Emily asked.

"It would be perfect for the inn," Lorelai said. "Rooms twelve, three, and seven don't have any dressers. Guests have been leaving their stuff all over the floor."

"That can't be good for business."

"Well, they seem to appreciate channeling their inner teenage boy."

A saleswoman floated up beside Lorelai. "This is a lovely piece, isn't it?"

"It's very pretty," Lorelai said.

"It's Georgia pine, circa World War One." The saleswoman pointed out original knobs, and a little puppy love message carved inside one of the drawers, dated 1954.

"That's adorable!" Lorelai gushed.

"Are the feet original?" Emily asked, less enthused.

"The entire piece is in its original state," the saleswoman answered.

"Oh, I don't know, Lorelai," Emily said warningly. "The whole thing may fall apart a week after you get it home."

"It's in excellent condition," the saleswoman said, slightly insulted. "The previous owners had great respect for the history of the piece."

"Was that the same 'respectful previous owner' who let his child carve graffiti into it?" Emily said.

Lorelai, who had been watching the exchange, smirked ever so slightly at her mother, knowing exactly the game she was playing.

"Mom, the graffiti is cute. Gives it personality. It's at least worth," Lorelai checked the tag, "eight hundred."

"Lorelai, I did not raise you to throw your money away on a piece of furniture simply because it's 'cute'," Emily said with twinkled eye.

"The sticker price is negotiable, of course," the saleswoman said nervously, utterly intimidated by Emily Gilmore, professional haggler.

Ten minutes later, the Gilmore Mother-Daughter good customer/bad customer tag team had knocked the price down by half and had delivery and a pitcher and bowl set added to the deal.

"Wow. What a rush," Lorelai said as they left the store.

"Shopping is a sport if you do it right," Emily said, delightedly.

"Or a battlefield. Thank you so much, Mom. The guests in room eleven will be thrilled to have a place to park their stuff."

"I saw an armoire at a store down the street that has a very mendable crack down the back," Emily said.

"Yeah, and I think I saw a rocking chair that would look great on the deck," Lorelai said with a grin.

"I heard that shopkeeper's a cryer," Emily said like a huntress.

"Let's go."

The two women cruised the street amid the midafternoon tourist shopping rush.

"I haven't asked you recently -- how _is_ the inn going?" Emily asked.

"Better than I could have imagined. We're booked through this month, and Michel expects the rest of the summer to be the same. He's probably right; Michel has a sixth sense for customer service. Which is why he hates them all."

Emily smiled.

"It's so amazing to me that it's all going so well," Lorelai said. "Before the inn opened, I was so obsessed with preventing the whole thing from blowing up in my face that it never occurred to me that it might _not _be a total disaster." Lorelai stopped to look at some baskets at a sidewalk sale.

Emily regarded Lorelai with the same wistful smile she had worn back at the house. "Lorelai, it occurs to me that perhaps I should tell more often how very proud of you I am."

Lorelai turned away from the baskets to face Emily, stunned.

Looking slightly chagrined yet earnest, Emily continued, "You have become such a success. You worked for everything you've achieved, and you deserve every inch of your success."

Lorelai's eyes glistened as she said, "Thank you, Mom. That's very nice of you to say."

Considering the subject closed, Emily spotted one of her favorite haunts and steered Lorelai inside. As Lorelai thumbed idly through a box of old photographs, she said, "Mom, Rory said something to me the other day that was just _crazy_."

"What was that?" Emily said, reading a tag on a ladder-back chair.

"You'll laugh," Lorelai said, though her smile was manufactured. "She said you were talking to Mr. Ferguson from next door, and it looked like you two were having some kind of secret rendezvous. Isn't that crazy?"

Emily gripped the chairback, knuckles turning pale. "Why is that crazy?"

Surprised at Emily's reaction, Lorelai stuttered, "Well – I, I guess it isn't _crazy_. But, y'know – it's jumping to conclusions a little, don't you think?"

Emily turned to Lorelai, eyes piercing. "I guess your father is the only one allowed to have secret rendezvous. It's part of his new life now, isn't it?"

"Mom – I- "

Emily turned on her heel and walked out of the store. Lorelai hurried after.

"Mom, I didn't mean to imply –"

"I don't want to talk about this, Lorelai. This is between your father and me." Emily charged down the street in the direction of the car. The wind ruffled her hair, and the sun had gone in.

"Mom, he and Pennilyn were just having lunches, that's all. Yearly lunches."

"That's all it took for George and Doris."

"That's just a movie, Mom," Lorelai said. "A really bad movie. Starring Alan Alda. Don't throw your marriage away based on something from a movie with _Alan Alda_, for god's sake. Maybe Jamie Farr, but—"

"Lorelai, stop babbling." Emily wrenched her keys out of her purse. "Let's just go home, please."

"Mom." Lorelai touched Emily's elbow. "Do you honestly think Dad and Pennilyn were . . . _meeting_," Lorelai said, finding the idea of a tryst and her father in the same sentence slightly off-putting.

Emily unlocked the car but hesitated to get in. She fiddled with her keys, not meeting Lorelai's eye.

"Did you even ask him?" Lorelai said gently.

"Lorelai, don't start. You have no idea what goes on between your father and me, and you have no business butting in."

Emily swept into the car. Lorelai hesitated and then got in, too.

"I just want you to be happy, Mom," Lorelai said. "If leaving him is the best option, then I'll respect your decision. But I don't want you to do it because you think it's the _only _option."

Emily started the ignition, staring straight ahead. After a moment, she nodded briefly, which Lorelai took as acknowledgement enough. She let her mother drop the subject.


	10. Shocking

Chap 10: Shocking

Luke's father had told him that when the leaves turned inside out on the trees, a storm was swiftly approaching. The cool air had dried the perspiration on his and Rory's faces, and while the reprieve from the wet heat was welcome, Luke was feeling nervous.

"Rory, I think we should turn around."

She bit her lower lip. "I kinda had a big cup of coffee before we left . . ." she said.

"Can you go in the woods?"

Rory gave him a look that any Gilmore woman would have given him had they been posed that suggestion.

"I think we're close to the visitors' center," Rory said, clearly nervous as well. But, biological needs being what they were . . .

Luke sighed and trudged on.

They walked quickly and in less than five minutes came upon the visitors' center, with bathrooms nearby in a sheetmetal-roofed lean-to. Luke watched the skies warily while Rory was inside. Not so much as a drop of rain, but the dark clouds were getting closer and the wind was starting to smell electric.

A minute later, Rory emerged and they started walking, quickly.

In the distance, thunder rumbled.

* * *

The driveway was polka-dotted with raindrops when Lorelai and Emily came home.

"We're home!" Lorelai called into the silent house. "Luke?" Silence. "Rory?"

"Where could they be?" Emily said. "It's going to storm." She scanned the backyard for signs of life. "I hope they're not out on the lake."

Lorelai spotted her phone in the kitchen and checked the messages. Her eyes widened as she listened.

"Ohmigod," she whispered.

"What?" Emily asked. "Where are they?"

She walked quickly past Emily into the backyard to confirm her suspicion: the motorboat wasn't parked at the dock. Icy fear filled her stomach.

* * *

Thunder rumbled closer, and top-heavy trees were starting to sway in the wind. 

_We're on top of a hill, near trees and a stupid metal bathroom. We may as well be wearing a sign that says, 'hello, my name is lightening rod.' _Luke thought. He noticed on many of the thickest, biggest trees, branches without a single leaf on them. _Not to mention that they call those big, dead branches 'widow makers' for a reason. _

Rory tried the doors of the visitors' center, but they were locked. There wasn't even a porch to stand under. Rain started falling as Luke tapped on a window, hoping someone was inside even if the office was closed, but the building was dark and unresponsive.

"Dammit!" he yelled. The thunder was growing increasingly persistent. A flash of lightning far off – but not too far -- danced at the periphery of his vision. A hundred news reports of deadly waterfront storms played in his mind. If he was out here alone, he may not have been so – concerned (_not scared, just aware of the danger_); but Rory had never seem as small to him as she seemed now. Lorelai would kill him if either of them got hurt.

A clap of thunder, the loudest yet, shook him to action. "Try you cell phone," he told Rory, more sharply than he intended.

She flipped it open and her heart sunk. "No signal," she said. She started punching random buttons, frustrated, as if she could tune in a signal like a radio.

Luke growled. "What's the point of freaking technology if it doesn't work when you ne—"

A flash of pure white light blinded them. A sound like a Mack truck hitting an embankment assaulted their ears, so loud it blocked out any sense of the rain, wind, or each other. Rory screamed. Something crackled overhead. The air smelled like an overheating hair dryer.

Though spotty eyes, Luke looked up. The tree above them was rending down the center, its two main branches yawning apart. It was so bizarre, so far from any experience he could relate to, that it seemed like he was watching it on television.

Until a branch the diameter of his arm pinwheeled out of the tree, whistled past them, and landed in the mud five feet from where they were standing. They both screamed.

Luke grabbed Rory around her middle and ran. Behind him, he heard more thunks and splintering. The tree was dogging his heels.

Luke half-carried Rory until her legs caught up with her brain and she sprinted like a fawn, hanging onto his hand. The storm had arrived in full force; sheets of rain obscured visibility. They ran past the useless visitors' center, directionless, until another flash of lightening lit a structure in silhouette in the dark forest.

"There!" Rory yelled.

Luke looked where she was pointing, another flash of lightening illuminating what she was looking at. Wordlessly agreeing, they fled through overgrown brush, nettles scratching their bare legs, and leaped over a rocky ditch to land, under cover, in the pavilion.

They stood in shock for a moment, hesitating to allow themselves to feel safe. Rory giggled suddenly, high pitched and not like herself. Luke put his arm around her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. She could feel his heart thumping against his chest.

"We're okay," she said, more to convince herself than him.

"Yeah," Luke said, awkwardly hugging her in response.

"Lightening can't strike twice, right?" Rory said.

"It's just a summer storm," Luke said, as if this definition of their situation had just come to him. "It'll blow over, and then we'll go home."

* * *

Back at the house, Lorelai stood on the back porch, watching the whitecaps on the lake, feeling the cold rain on her warm face. Inside, she heard Emily on the phone. 

"I don't care about the conditions! My granddaughter and son-in-law are out in this storm, and you will do you job or else . . ."

Though Lorelai's brow remained furrowed, the corners of her mouth tilted upward. Help was on its way.

* * *

Rory and Luke sat on the pavilion's concrete floor, listening to the rumbling thunder and the rain pattering on the wooden roof. As her heartbeat calmed in her chest, and her knees stopped shaking, Rory started to feel sleepy. 

She thought about the argument she'd had with her mother just a few hours ago, how it had prompted her to flee to the woods. And how stupid that had been – the argument, the way Rory had handled it. It's just . . .

"Everything has to be her way," Rory said.

Luke blinked and looked at Rory. It was the first thing either of them had said in fifteen minutes. "Lorelai?" he asked.

Rory nodded.

"Is this about that fight?" Luke said.

Rather than answering, Rory said, "She keeps giving me this _look. _And she's never given me it before."

"What's she looking like?"

Rory stared at the rain. "Like she's disappointed in me."

"Huh," Luke said, noncommittally.

"What?"

"Nothin'. I don't think I've ever seen your mom disappointed in you."

"She never had a reason to be," Rory said.

Luke considered that. "You think she does now?"

Rory shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe." She wished she could tell someone about Dean – just to say it, get it out in the open, shrink it down so it wouldn't burn such a hole of guilt in her chest.

A cool wind swished through the open room. Rory, in a tank top and shorts, wrapped her arms around her.

"Are you cold?" Luke asked.

"No," she said.

At length, Luke said, "I don't know what's going on between you and her, but I know it's private. I'm not butting in," he said again. "But I think she's just used to always knowing what's going on in your life, and always being right by your side."

"But I'm not a little kid anymore," Rory said, annoyed.

"I know. And she knows," Luke said. "Sometimes you can know a kid can handle themselves, but looking in from the outside, you think how much easier it would be if you could just reach into their lives and do it for them," he said, thinking of Jess.

'Looking in from the outside,' Rory mused. For the first time in her life, something big had happened to her, and she couldn't talk about it with her mom. Rory sighed deeply.

Several minutes later, Luke noticed it first: the sound of motors echoing through the trees. Headlights lanced through the rain-swept darkness. Luke hollered, and soon a pair of four-wheelers bearing poncho-draped men in Smoky the Bear hats drove to the pavilion.

"Are you Luke and Rory Gilmore?" one of them asked.

Recognizing her grandmother's persuasion techniques, Rory affirmed that they were. One of the park rangers spoke into a walkie-talkie while the other scolded them for being out in this weather.

"Well, hop on," the annoyed ranger finally said. "We put your boat onto our trailer. Thanks a lot for leaving it tied to our dock in a hurricane," he said sarcastically. "You could've wrecked the dock."

"Sorry!" Rory said. "We didn't know."

"Hold on, hurricane?" Luke said. The rain had stopped by now, the air was still and cool; even the humidity had blown away.

"Tropical storm," the other, less annoyed ranger corrected. "Blew down from the Boston and then went out to sea. Provincetown got hit hard, but we just caught the end of it. You two are mighty lucky."

* * *

TBC

a/n: What the hell is with ff dot net not letting you do astrices to denote scene changes anymore? Those ruled lines look stupid!


	11. Home Again

Chap 11: Home Again

Lorelai paced the living room like a caged cat.

"Why haven't they called? They said they'd call if they found them. How big could that friggin island be?" she said.

"Sit down, Lorelai," said Emily, who was sitting on the couch with a magazine on her lap (though she hadn't turned a page in half an hour). "You're going to work yourself into a fit."

"Mother, my daughter and my boyfriend are out in a storm!"

"The storm has stopped, Lorelai."

"I'm going to go look for them."

"Are you planning on swimmingto the island?" Emily said.

Lorelai opened the front door.

"Lorelai!" Emily said.

Lorelai yelped and ran outside, screen door slamming behind her. Emily followed, asking shrill questions.

Rory and Luke trudged up the walk, soaked, muddy, and tired.

"Gilligan!" Lorelai cried, and grabbed Rory in a hug.

"I'm sorry we scared you," Rory said.

"You certainly did, young lady," Emily said.

"And the skipper, too!" Lorelai hugged and kissed Luke. "Thank you for keeping her safe."

"It was nothing," Luke said.

"That's quite a thing to say to the person who got her lost in the first place," Emily said to Lorelai sharply.

"She isn't a kid, Mom," Lorelai said. "Rory chose to go up there on her own."

Rory's eyes filled with tears, and she launched herself at her mom. "I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm sorry for fighting with you and saying those awful things."

"Oh, honey," Lorelai said, holding her girl.

"What's she going on about?" Emily asked Luke.

Luke shrugged and started walking to the house. Emily evaluated the girls again, and reluctantly followed Luke inside. As Lorelai and Rory hugged and cried, they heard Emily's receding voice, "Take off those muddy shoes and check yourselves for ticks before you come inside the house. And be sure to use the garden soap so you don't break out in poison ivy from head to toe. There's calamine lotion, too, because I'm sure you gave the mosquitoes a _feast_. I can't understand _what_ you two were _thinking._ . . ."

The screen door banged shut, and Lorelai and Rory were alone in the wet yard.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Rory said for the fifth time.

"It's all right. I'm sorry for being snippy," Lorelai said. "I'm just used to being able to talk to you about things. What happened? I mean, did I screw it up? Did I make you not want to talk to me?"

"No, this isn't your fault at all," Rory said. "Everything you said that night when Dean and me – everything you said was right. I _wanted_ to talk to you, Mom, really. I didn't think you wanted to hear it."

"Oh, honey," Lorelai said guiltily.

"No, you didn't do anything wrong this past month," Rory said, gesturing to emphasize. "It was my fault for being angry at myself and taking it out on you."

Lorelai rubbed Rory's arms consolingly.

"I just didn't want to admit that I did something so stupid," Rory said.

"No, not stupid; just human."

"I know," Rory said. "It – what happened –" she pulled her lips inward.

Lorelai's heart broke to see the pain on Rory's face.

"Look, it's not on your list of top achievements," Lorelai said, "but the only thing you can do now is what you're already doing, i.e. staying the hell away from him. So, short of changing your major to physics so you can take a team of scientists into the desert and build Project Quantum Leap, there's nothing much else you can do at this point."

"I know," Rory said. "I just – this isn't me. I don't feel like me." Tears welled in her eyes.

Lorelai hugged her again. "Honey, even smart, sweet, kind kids mess up. You're still you. Really."

"You think?" Rory said tearfully.

"Oh, totally," Lorelai said. "Head to toe, you're one hundred percent Rory."

Rory leaned into Lorelai again, seeking comfort this time.

"I just wish I could believe that."

"You will," Lorelai said. "You just need to give yourself time. You'll work through this."

When Rory was a little girl, Lorelai would say things like, 'We'll fix this together.' But her daughter was achingly grown up now, possessing her own life and its consequences. And while Lorelai understood this, she still didn't want to let go. But that part of Lorelai's life was over now; as much as Rory's childhood was both an ending and beginning point in her own life, it signaled a new chapter in Lorelai's life, as well.

"I love you."

"You too."

* * *

When Luke came downstairs from his shower, he found Emily in the living room, subtly watching Lorelai and Rory from the living room window. When she heard Luke's footfalls on the stairs, she picked up a magazine and started turning pages.

"Hi," Luke said.

Emily looked up only long enough to send him a scathing look. "I trust you discovered no disease-carrying insects on your person?"

"Nope," he said. "There was bug spray in the boat."

Emily looked at him carefully. "Oh."

"Sunscreen, too."

"I see," she said evenly.

"I didn't take her up there," Luke said. "She was intent on going, and I wasn't going to let her go alone. I went to make sure she didn't do anything stupid and got herself hurt."

"You could have tried to stop her," Emily said icily.

Luke sat heavily onto the sofa opposite Emily. "When Rory makes up her mind about something, she's like a dog with a bone in her mouth."

"How charming, likening my granddaughter to a dog."

"You know what I mean," Luke said. "She's like Lorelai. Stubborn."

Emily's lips twisted as she wrestled her emotions: fury at this man for being adjacent to a disaster regarding Rory, yet belief that she came home safe because of him.

"I've kept her in burgers and fries since she was in grade school," Luke said.

Emily put down the magazine and stood abruptly. "You must be hungry," she said.

"Yeah," Luke said, still unsure of his standing with Emily.

"There's a pot roast in the refrigerator, and –"

The screen door flung open. "Hey, Grandma, look at this!" Rory cried.

"Look at what?" Emily said, as Rory brandished her cell phone.

Luke sent Lorelai a look, '_Everything okay?'_

Lorelai nodded. _'Thank you_,' she mouthed, bobbing her head at Rory. Luke nodded.

Rory explained about their near-miss with the lightning bolt, and – after Emily recovered from her stroke -- said, "When it hit, I must have just squeezed my phone, and pushed the photo button."

"This is astounding!" Emily said, looking at the picture displayed on Rory's phone.

"What?" Luke said.

The camera had been pointed up at the tree. Rory's timing had been perfect: a vein of white light, like a knobby finger, arced from the top of the picture to the middle of the tree. The upper limbs of the tree were in silhouette, and the bolt of lightning was cutting down the center of the trunk, which was bulging and cleaving, about to split the tree in half.

"Wow," Luke said. "We heard it _after_ it hit."

"Yup," Rory said. "You protected me from a big noise and some crackling electrons."

Emily and Lorelai shared a smile at the word 'protect.'

"And the falling tree," Luke said wryly.

"The tree was falling?" Rory said.


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

Rory, Lorelai, and Luke arrived at the Gilmore house at dusk while lightning bugs flickered in the trees. Luke helped to unload the girls' gear and then transferred his stuff to his truck. Lorelai volunteered to go with him to his apartment to help him unpack.

"You really don't need to," Luke said.

"I know," Lorelai said innocently, and Luke knew something was up.

Up in his apartment, Luke dropped his duffle on the floor with a _thunk_, took the things Lorelai had carried and similarly deposited them, then turned and faced her squarely, arms crossed.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing!" Lorelai trilled. "I just need to talk to you."

"Oh, wonderful. Look, Lorelai, if you're bailing, just say so."

"Luke—"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, you are bailing! I don't _believe_ this! What does a guy have to do-- "

"Luke! Stop it! I'm not bailing."

"Then what is it?" he said sharply.

"Will you please sit down and chill out so I can tell you?"

Grudgingly, Luke dropped onto the sofa; Lorelai sat beside him, legs curled beneath her, arms crossed.

"There's something I've been trying to say to you," she said with calm she didn't feel. "Something I _need_ to say, but--"

Concern crossed Luke's face. "What is it?" he said gently.

"Um, well, I . . . See, it's like this. I'm in love with you."

Luke's eyebrows shot to the brim of his hat. A grin played on his lips, but before he could respond, Lorelai spoke again.

"But, I'm," she took a breath, "I'm scared. Because you're my best friend and a really great boyfriend, and you always have been – and always will be – really important to me, and to Rory. So, I'm scared that I'm going to screw this up in my usual style."

Luke started to speak, but she interrupted again.

"But. I really will ruin us if I keep trying to -- to protect myself from maybe getting hurt or maybe hurting you." She touched his arm. "I've been keeping you at a distance, and sending you mixed signals, and I'm sorry. I think …I think I have to take this one day at a time and stop waiting for the other shoe to fall." Anxiety twisted in her stomach. This wasn't her usual MO. Normally, if the relationship required this much work, she gave it up for lost.

"Lorelai," Luke pulled her into a hug. "There isn't another shoe."

"But how do you know?" she said into his shoulder.

"I don't. Just like I didn't know if asking you out was going to be the best thing I ever did, or my biggest mistake. I just had to jump in and see what was gonna happen. I didn't know how you felt then, but I amtelling you know how _I_ feel now: I love you. I'm not going anywhere."

Lorelai smiled, looking relieved.

"Really?" she said.

"Really."

She kissed him.

"Well, that's one terrifying conversation down," Lorelai said. "Now I've got to ask my mother when I'm getting a new daddy."

"Huh?" Luke said.

"Rory thinks Emily's having an affair with her neighbor, Mr. Ferguson."

"Who, the gay guy?" Luke said.

Lorelai gaped. "Huh?"

"That old guy next door? Yeah. Him and his, y'know, partner or whatever were renting the house together."

"You know them?" Lorelai said, still trying to process this information into her pre-existing idea. Emily _wasn't _having an affair? She had spent half the week wondering this, but it hadn't once occurred to her to glance next door and see if there was more than one person staying in that house.

"Well, we talked over the fence," Luke said. "They're Mets fans."

Lorelai laughed. "So . . . my mother's not having an affair?"

"I sincerely doubt it," Luke said.

Shaking her head at the crazy goings-on of the retired set, Lorelai stood. "Well, I should let you unpack," she said.

Luke grabbed her hand. "Or. . ." he said, looking up at her with a half-smile.

Lorelai cocked her head, smiling slyly. "Or?"

Luke stood, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. When they parted, he arched his eyebrows, questioning. Lorelai's eyes flicked to the twin bed; tiny – or romantic? She grinned at the possibilities.

"Yeah," she said, and kissed him.

* * *

Author's Notes

Wow. I can't believe this story is finally done. Since I started working on it about a year ago, it feels like I've sent my baby off to her first day of school! I hope the other stories don't pick on her.

A million thanks to my beta readers Carrilynn and Romantique, who were helping me with this story at the same time they were putting up with me during the Ficathon. :)

And as always thanks for reading. This story wasn't always fun to write, but knowing I've entertained a few people makes it all worthwhile.

-k


	13. ignore this

**DVD Extras**

So, when you were in 8th grade, and your science teacher said, "Don't touch the hotplate," you were the kid who touched it, just to see what would happen.

Oh, no, sorry. That was me. (FYI: Your flesh dies instantly, so you can watch your finger callus over, and it doesn't really hurt.)

**Evolution**

This story went under a lot of metamorphoses as S4 jossed every single one of my ideas (take a look at "A Little" to see how drastically different this story started out). But the core idea was always the same: Our Heroes, back to nature, hashing out their problems in a way they couldn't in their real lives.

Originally, the story was mostly Rory and Luke wandering around the woods, having Deep Conversations. There was a very moving moment when Rory asks Luke why he sent Jess away (post-S3), and Luke sees Jess through Rory's eyes, and vice versa. In retrospect, it wasn't particularly in character, so I'm glad S4 gave Rory something else to be moody about. It's really fun to write Moody!Rory as opposed to Angel!Rory.

**References**

Rick Bass writes short, sparse stories about people living in the extreme north of Canada, where it's cold and dark nine months out of the year, the population density is about .2 per square mile, and most people live on a ranch or in the woods. I dunno why I thought Luke would like that author. ;) Read "The Hermit's Story," about these people who wait out a complete white-out under a frozen lake at low tide.**** Raise your hand if you had the Babysitters' Club game. It's like chess meets _Mean Girls_. ****

**Inspiration**

I started this story in June 03, and finished it in August 04. Through fall, spring, and two summers, I brought a pen and notepad with me every time I went hiking in my home-away-from-home park. As I walked, Luke, Lorelai, Emily, and Rory walked beside me and let me eavesdrop on their conversations. Since I go to the woods the way some people go to church (or the gym, if you're "Just Jack!"), this story came out of my favorite times of the day.

Best thing about the park: in late summer through autumn, these tall, undulating grasses on a hilly meadow turn colors like the leaves. From far away, the field looks auburn, but as you get closer, the colors shift and separate, becoming shades of red and pink, until you see that each stalk has bits of gold, pink, and orange in it. I once saw a buck leap out of the grasses and thunder down the incredibly steep hill like a billy goat.

**Thoreau wasn't that isolated**

The title comes from a story I heard about Thoreau, that he wasn't all the isolated on Walden Pond; he went to his parents' house every week and had their servants do his laundry. Shout-out to my pal Rob, who pointed out the similarities between Thoreau and Rory, who ran home every weekend of freshman year with laundry.

**Geography is stupid**

There isn't an Ely Lake in Connecticut, but the nearest large body of water near Hartford (according to Mapquest) where Luke could go fishing is Ely Pond. I've never been to Martha's Vineyard, but a lot of murders take place there, according to my mom's Mary Higgins Clark-esque paperbacks. Mom says it isn't all beach, that it's "a pretty wet place," so I picked a random inland lake to put Emily's house on.

**Still pictures**

Well, all that's left of this DVD extra is the still pictures with that fat guy talking. I know no one's going to actually look at these, but if you're really curious, click here.


End file.
